A Grain of Sand
by Kay117
Summary: Gaara reflects on his life and thoughts of home.


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto

WARNING: Contains MAJOR spoilers from the manga through chapter 281.

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**A Grain of Sand**

There has never been a time in my life when the house I live in felt like home. It was just the place I went when I had no where else to go. When the sun became too hot and I no longer felt like walking around the outskirts of the village, after I'd roamed the empty, dusty streets of Suna late at night; my feet simply led me back down the road that had been constructed for the sole purpose of leading my siblings and I to our lonely sand-packed dwelling. We never had to explain to anyone why it was separated from the rest of the village's neighborhoods.

I hated living with my siblings. My brother and sister were very loud around each other, but were quiet and timid when I was in their presence. I knew why, of course, but I didn't care; It still angered me when they exchanged glances of fear. I never sought them out and ignored them whenever possible, but it seemed they always found a way to interrupt my solitude. It was not uncommon for the three of us to be trapped inside the house while a vicious sandstorm raged outside. All day I would sit in my room, staring out the window, imagining that the sands swirling on the other side of the glass were my own. I would almost reach a kind of peace when I'd overhear Temari yelling at Kankurou, and then my brother's heavy footsteps in the room overhead. And when I finally thought they were going to shut up, a door would slam and the sands would quiver around my feet in my irritation.

I don't think I killed people as much as they thought I did. It was the unpredictability with which I did kill that gave them the impression I was an insane freak who would destroy whoever was in my path. This isn't to say I wasn't psychotic, and to a certain extant it was true. In actuality, though, I avoided coming in contact with anyone enough that there weren't dead bodies lying around our house, like some rumors whispered.

At times though, when there was no desert wind, or when the midnight sky was starless and the only things that surrounded me were my feelings of fury and memories of betrayal…I could sense the monster inside of me, devouring my sanity and intensifying my hatred, pushing me to the edge. And then a lost soul would meet the unfortunate fate of bumping into me; he wouldn't even know what had happened before my sands…or was it the demon's sands?…had choked the last breath out of him. The reality of the man's death, the reality that I had killed him, reminded me of my existence, and in this way I retreated from the brink of disappearance.

No one ever muttered a single word to me about the murders, but I knew they could tell I had done it.

Once, when I was younger, I considered telling them it was Shukaku that had killed the innocent victim, not me, but that idea vanished in a breath of absurdity. Shukaku and Gaara, they were the same to the villagers; they did not recognize us as separate entities. I'm not sure I didn't either.

My siblings and most of the people in Suna were under the impression that I never felt pain. Of any kind. However, while my sand protected me from wounds of the flesh, I still suffered from severe headaches. They would come unexpectedly, splitting my head open with horrible scenes from my youth that I normally suppressed. The pain was infuriating, unbearable, and I would clutch at my head and rip at my hair in frustration and anguish. My brother and sister stood and watched, at a loss for what to do. Not that I would have let them help, anyway. Not that they would have helped, if they could.

Perhaps the migraines were caused by the combination of my painful childhood and the pressure of the demon sealed inside me, I don't know. I do know they passed fairly quickly, and I was angry afterwards. I did not like anything that brought back memories. More than one person lies in their grave because they said or did something that reminded me of…of my uncle.

Few people know it, but something else I was not fond of was mirrors. We had one in our house, hanging in the upstairs hallway, but I always steered clear of it. If I did have to pass it, I would keep my head turned the other way and downward, so as not to even catch a glimpse of my unruly hair. I could never completely rationalize why I so despised the mirror, but I have a feeling it was my eyes. They were another one of those reminders.

Lack of sleep, my ass. That toad didn't know what he was talking about. The deep markings around my eyes have been there since I was an infant (Yashamaru showed me pictures when I was young). Like Naruto's whiskers, They are a sign of the bijuu, in my case the damned raccoon demon, in my body. My lack of sleep is not the cause of my odd eyes, my eyes are the cause of my lack of sleep.

Naruto.

At the time I met him, my psychotic-ness was reaching a sort of zenith. The headaches were happening more frequently, and they were stronger. I also began the frightening habit of talking to my "mother," a sign that I was truly losing my mind. Looking back, I can't imagine how terrified my siblings must have been. After all, that "okaasan" had been their mother, too. More of a mother to them than she ever had been to me.

I can not describe what happened during and after the chuunin exams. I can tell you that Naruto managed to do what no one had done since I was six - he made me feel guilt. A strange feeling, realizing there was more beyond myself and my selfish hatred. It was horribly overwhelming at first, so much so that I would lock myself in my room for days, almost weeks, at a time, hoping that I would die and blow away like a grain of sand.

To my surprise, and I was surprised I could feel surprise, my brother was the first one to reach out to me in my state of numbing depression. His words were the first spoken to me since my family's return from Konoha. I had been lying in my bed for three days when I heard Kankurou's footsteps outside in the hall. I barely even registered them as footsteps until they stopped in front of my door and I heard a quiet knock.

"Gaara?" ventured Kankurou, slightly muffled on the other side of the door.

I was silent. His voice was cautious, but not frightened.

"Um, Temari cooked dinner tonight," he paused, seemed to realize how foolish that sounded, since Temari cooked dinner every night, but he recovered and went on, "and, uh, I…er…we saved some for you, if…if you're hungry later."

I didn't say anything for a whole minute as I stared at the door with my mouth hanging slightly open, but then I managed a barely audible, "Thanks," my voice hoarse from disuse. I hadn't known if Kankurou was still standing outside, but for some reason was relieved when I heard his weighty stride go the way he came, and I knew he'd heard my reply.

My brother's words were simple, and to most families would carry no meaning at all. But to me they seemed to say, "We saved some love for you, if you want it." The next time my brother knocked on my door, which was the next day around dinner time, I opened it and asked him to go for a walk with me. Needless to say, he was a little shocked, but of course he agreed.

The first time we walked, neither of us said anything. We circled the village once, I a few steps ahead of him, turning my head every few yards to see that he was not far behind, with an almost pleasant expression on his face, then we went back inside the house.

The second time we walked, I mentioned it was hot, which was a stupid thing to say in the desert, but they were words. The third and fourth time we spoke briefly about Suna's current politically chaotic state and also about a cactus, I think. After that we walked every day, and occasionally Temari came with us. We would walk for an hour or so, usually during the evening after dinner (which I sometimes ate and sometimes did not, but I never ate when they ate). My brother and sister always attempted at least once to engage me in conversation, and I tried my best to be receptive, but much of the time I found it most peaceful to walk in silence.

The fact that my siblings were making any effort at all to accept me and to, I hoped, love me, made it easier to handle my guilt. As I started to contemplate it little by little, I felt more…more _human_ than I ever had before. I seemed to realize how deluded I had been and just how much I wanted to change. I finally understood that I was desperate to be needed.

So it was that several months after Kankurou spoke to me I stopped in the middle of our walk one evening when we were alone, and told him I wanted to become Kazekage. A few days later he told Temari, and a year later the people of Sunagakure referred to me as Godaime-sama.

Becoming Kazekage was not an easy process. Being the strongest ninja was not the hard part, although I did resume an intensified training regimen. The difficulty was in convincing the village elders that I was fit to lead. After all, most villages don't want a homicidal maniac as their kage. But I was determined to prove to them that the Gaara they'd known for fourteen and a half years was buried in the sand with the people he'd killed. My siblings argued with them for endless hours on my behalf, and for their constant support I remain forever grateful.

When I spoke to the elders I struggled to find words eloquent enough for their standards, since I hardly ever spoke at all. However, expressing myself had never been so rewarding during one particular interview, when I told them I would give my life to protect the village. They stared at me, still and quiet, and I took the opportunity to say something else. Sitting straight, with my hands lying neatly in my lap, I looked them in the eye and said, "The circumstances of my birth are irrelevant in this situation. After all, it is what I _choose_ to do with my life and what I have been given that determines who I am. I ask that from now on, when you look at me, do not see Gaara and Shukaku as one being. See Sabaku no Gaara and only Sabaku no Gaara, as my thoughts, words, and actions are mine and mine alone, and not those of the demon."

The elders remained positively silent, some with their mouths agape, and all looked dumbfounded. I glanced over at my siblings, who sat patiently on the other side of room, and I noticed that my brother looked immensely impressed and Temari's eyes were wet. It was not long after that that the elders relented, and I was granted the position of Kazekage.

Naruto saved my life that day during the chuunin exams, I have never doubted that. It was just that I never expected him to save it again. But as it happened, I had not been Kazekage for more than six months when the Akatsuki attacked.

I don't remember dying. I don't remember anything from the moment the explosion knocked me out to waking up in a field surrounded by what seemed to be half the village. There are two things I remember most vividly: the incredible desire to keep my village safe, and opening my eyes to see Naruto bent over me, his face full of relief. I will never forget that.

I had not seen Naruto in years. I had always assumed I wouldn't know what to say to him when I saw him again, but I was surprisingly sure of myself. Perhaps being Kazekage gave me more confidence than I thought. Confidence enough, at least, to shake his hand as an equal.

But I did not have much time to think about any change in our relationship, as living without the demon presented a whole new set of challenges, most of them psychological. And most of them, I found, surmountable with help from my siblings and the extraordinary amount of support I now received from the villagers upon my return to Sunagakure.

After a few months I found that no longer being sealed with Shukaku was not the horribly strange experience I expected it to be. I hadn't realized how much I'd separated my mind and personality from the demon's until he was actually gone, and then I no longer had to worry about it. In fact, the only major difference was that I could sleep now, if I wanted.

But to this present day, I have not slept. Even Temari and Kankurou are not aware that I still don't sleep. I'll lay in bed and close my eyes, resting, but I never allow myself to fall into slumber. Although I will not admit this to anyone, I am afraid of it. I have heard what a nightmare is, and somehow I think I know what it feels like, and I am too afraid of them to sleep. Afraid that I'll see things, remember things, in my nightmares that I could avoid if I stayed awake. Every night I argue with myself. I tell myself I should sleep, because more than likely I'll awake feeling better than I ever have before. But once you have made a lifestyle out of insomnia, it is hard to change, and it has won out every single night. Often times, simply to avoid thinking about going to sleep, I'll stay at work until the early hours of morning, doing paperwork and anything else I can find to keep myself busy.

Which is exactly what I'm doing tonight. Well, almost exactly. I stopped doing paperwork over an hour ago, and since then have been leaning back in my chair, reflecting, brooding about my past, completely lost in contemplation. I do this quite often, but lately I've seemed to make a habit of it, because one thought… person, rather…has refused to leave my head.

Naruto.

I think about Naruto whenever I don't feel like thinking about anything else, which is pretty much constantly. I wonder if he ever thinks about me. I owe, not only my life, but who and what I am, to him. I felt a connection with him for a long while because we were both carriers of demons, but I wonder now if that still holds true. Does he still think of me as a jinchuuriki? What does he think of me?

I lean further into my chair and it creaks with the added weight. My fingers tap without rhythm on my desk and I stare unwavering at the floor. There is a lot I would give to share a simple conversation with him, not something diplomatic, but just as…friends? I have never particularly thought of myself as having friends. It is true I have my family, as yes, we are a family now, but they still are not people I would consider friends. I close my eyes I try to clear my mind of any thoughts of the blonde-haired ninja, but am unsuccessful. I open them again and turn to look out the window, seeing that the sun fell below the horizon long ago. There is no wind, and for now the sand outside lies still, but I know it won't be much longer until some small gust carries it somewhere else. Sand is something that never finds a home. Sometimes I feel like my heart is made of sand, always being blown somewhere, as if it has a place to go, only to find that the next place is as empty as the last.

Perhaps my heart is not completely empty, but I still feel a hole. Left by Shukaku, perhaps? I hope not, and I don't think so. It's been there longer than I've been without the demon. But it longs to be filled, so that maybe my thoughts can finally settle and I call somewhere home. Ever since I became closer to my siblings, I hoped that one day I would be able to think of our house as home, even if I got my own house. Still, however, something is missing.

I wonder what, exactly, Naruto would call his home? He might say his house, or maybe Konohagakure, but what if he said something else? What makes a home a home anyway?

With a sigh I decide to leave for the night. I stand stiffly, and quickly organize my desk before closing drawers and turning off the lights. The handle of one of the two massive doors to the Kazekage's office clicks as I turn it and step out. I shut the door and nod a small goodnight to the few Anbu placed on guard.

The night is cool and the sky is black and dazzled with stars. A slight wind picks up as I walk along the dusty street toward the house. I look up toward the heavens and can not lose my thoughts of Naruto in the grainy, sand-like mess of sparking light.

Lowering my head, I look on down the road and see the house in the distance, that the inside lights are off and Temari and Kankurou are asleep. And although my feet keep tiredly on, and I know I love my siblings, I realize, at this moment, that my house will never be home.

I reach the front door and stop then. A small porch light illuminates a small surrounding area and I watch the sand blow around my feet. The wind dies for a moment, and I settle my eyes a single grain until it is swept away again by the breeze, and I lose it in the darkness.

I open the door and step inside, and I do not bother to turn on the lights.

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PLEASE REVIEW! All flames and criticisms are gratefully accepted.

Thanks sooo much to my beta reader, XxDyingxCryxX!


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